


Winds of Change

by sea_of_stardust



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Character Death, Close calls with death, Gen, I explain everything you need to know, I probably missed some tags, I'll update it as things come up, I'm Bad At Tagging, I’ll do my best to warn it every time it comes up but please stay safe, Janus is a god, Janus starts as an angsty mess, Mentions of Death, Near character death, No Zelda knowledge required, Patton and Thomas will show up later, Platonic Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders, Roman and Logan are sword spirits, Skyward Sword Spoilers, Takes place in the world of Skyward Sword, Talks of Death, Unsympathetic Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Virgil has a potty mouth, Virgil is human, Virgil pulls him out of it, because even I’m not sure how things are going to go, but I have no clue what I’m doing so, but my ‘lore’ is a little different, depictions of violence, he doesn’t let that stop him though, he's the one that curses a lot, if anyone cares at this point, knowing Skyward Sword's story means you'll probably be a few steps ahead, magic happens maybe, so there's a lot of bad war things shown, tell me if i missed something, the Dragon Witch is the big baddie, the LoZ kind not the DnD kind, then he never lets go, this does take place during a war, this whole thing is an angsty mess really, you might see Remus too if you're lucky, you'll love to hate her
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:42:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25936126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sea_of_stardust/pseuds/sea_of_stardust
Summary: A Skyward Sword fusion universe/inspired story.There’s an old legend that says the winds betray Farore’s favor: If the wind blows at your back before a major conflict the Goddess of Courage is standing by your side. Over time, such legends faded to the back of the history books as afterthoughts, surviving in memory through something as minor as a couple paragraphs on a yellowed page. It’s only natural that things shift in and out of favor over time.Fate is a fickle thing, her actions not always making sense in the moment. One of those nonsensical actions is pushing forward an unlikely protector to face the evil released onto the peaceful world. A protector who sat in the back of history books for centuries, standing now because no matter what he did, he couldn’t sit back and pretend to not care. One who’s valiant exploits would be told as the greatest legend for centuries to come.But every legend has to start somewhere.In the deepest stretches of the forest, one minor god sits and admires as the breeze rustles autumn’s colorful leaves, unaware of the responsibility that soon will be resting on his shoulders.Unaware of how the winds of change are going to take the world by storm.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	1. Let’s Start At The Very Beginning...

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! I decided to try writing- and finishing- an actual chapter story, and this is the one I have a good feeling about. Mostly. There’s some rough spots, but we’ll see.  
> This tale takes place before the events of Skyward Sword, during the time of the Goddess Hylia and the Demon King Demise. It's just a little different. Due to there being little info provided in-game on what actually happens during that tense time, I took what I had, ran with it and mixed it up a little, making this! Hopefully, we'll have a consistent update schedule and get somewhere with it.  
>  **Chapter Warnings:** talks of being cast out, internal struggle with self  
> (I probably overdid these but I’d rather be safe than sorry. Tell me if I missed any!)

The autumn breeze blew by, biting anyone unprepared with a sharp, stinging cold. It gusted through the woods blowing the fallen leaves around without sympathy. Maybe somewhere closer to the lake, human children were gathering the colorful leaves into piles and jumping into them, giggling and having fun. But here, far in the forest’s depths, it was the only change present, the soft scuttle a welcome sound that broke the silence.

In the depths of the woods was a man. No, not a man. He had been called many things over his immortal existence, but he was never granted something as normal, simple, and accepting as being referred to as a man. That was one of many reasons he was here, alone, living in a tiny cottage far, far away from the lives of mortals. 

He was doing them a favor, he knew, as well as doing one for himself. One could only take so much hate before they broke, either their mentality or their soul shattering into a million pieces and causing equally horrible destruction. The forest creatures were company enough, and they were much more sympathetic than the vile species known as humanity. He was fine where he was. If he said it enough, he could trick himself into believing it was true. He could trick himself into forgetting the tallies in the back of the large leather-bound book sitting on the table. 

Only a little bit longer until it was late winter and he could add tally 819.

Each tally stood for a year. Each inked line represented a year since he had given up taking the hate and became the sinister villain they believed him to be. Each scratch showed him that no matter what he did, he couldn’t fool himself into honestly believing that he didn’t care about the humans. After all, if it weren’t for them, he wouldn’t exist. 

It was said that at the dawn of the universe, the world was made from chaos, a mess of mass doing nothing except existing. That is when the three golden goddesses, Din, Nayru and Farore descended from their place in the heavens and set to work, combining their powers to create the world as it was currently known. Din started it, shaping the earth and its various terrains. Nayru followed, creating the law and order of the universe of which it and its occupants would abide. Farore then finished the job, bringing life to the land and creating creatures both big and small, weak and strong, docile and dangerous to exist within what they had formed. Shortly after the creation of man, the rest of the gods and goddesses came to life through their beliefs and mindsets. 

Putting it simply, he was self-preservation. For many long, blissful years, he was able to live in harmony along with the humans. He had a strong desire to protect each and every one of them- as he did any living thing- and would do anything he could to protect them from outside dangers or themselves, wishes that were fulfilled in . . . strange ways. Ways that, as their small society grew, picked up negative connotations. Selfish became a dirty word, and so did any action that could be seen as self-serving. Their lives became a focus on the group, how each person’s actions helped another and doing one’s part meant another’s action would care for them. All about serving others and getting rewarded later. Self-preservation didn’t vanish, his category of it just became frowned upon in situations outside of life or death. Through that quickly growing belief, he too became frowned upon.

It wasn’t like he didn’t see it coming. He expected to be rejected by the majority of their society before long due to how they reacted to his appearance and actions even when he was appreciated. He just didn’t expect to be antagonized for those facts. He wasn’t the enemy, never would be. He was an instinct that grew and developed over time. By villainizing him, they were villainizing parts of themselves. That’s why he initially resisted their labels. He tried to continue existing alongside him, but even immortal deities can only stand so much. So rather than pushing against the tide until he broke, he chose to just go with the flow. He became what they saw him as. He studied the enemy they drew him as until he knew it so well he could become it. And become it he had, for 818 long, agonizing years.

Who cared if everyone forgot his real name? He definitely didn’t. He was Deceit, only Deceit, and always would be Deceit. Forever and always. 

But there were things even he couldn’t deny, despite being partially made from denial. They could call him evil, call him a snake, call him a monster. He could meddle in their lives when he got bored, lie to them while relishing the fact that he could do  _ something _ right to them, even if it was playing a role. He could hide away as far from them as he could bear and busy himself with useless little actions. It wouldn’t change the facts: He cared. He cared so deeply, it hurt.

It’s funny how a god with a major premise of deception can’t even outrun the truth in the end.

Autumn was one of his favorite seasons. Yes, the majority of his animal company went into hiding and he got cold easily, but it was the time of year where he was least likely to be bothered. The stories about what lingered in the depths of the woods were mostly fake (the old wives tale, one of his favorite creations) but after being passed down for centuries, they had their influence. It meant people stayed away, aside from the occasional young adult out on “a valiant journey to find themselves and prove their worth” as if this was some picture-perfect fairytale and they were the chivalrous main character. (In reality, all they were doing is risking their health and safety while disturbing the animals. He always managed to catch them and send them back home one way or another before anyone got hurt. It wasn’t exactly hard to find them, with them being so loud and always coming around in the same late spring/summer/early fall window.) Things like planting, harvest, and winter weather kept them away any other times, leaving him alone and at peace. Well, as at peace as he could be. Winter was the season of self-doubt, and it wasn’t just New Years lies that made him more active. Lack of distraction and nowhere to go meant his mind was prone to wandering. At least the snowy season meant there was two hours of daylight to sit around the house and not interact with anyone then he could just go to sleep for the rest of the day.

He was good at planning his future, figuring out what to do and when. He wasn’t particularly good at predicting it. That fact remained ever clear as he took a walk through the woods, enjoying the brisk day and warm sunlight. There weren’t any sounds aside from his footsteps and the tune he was humming, easily explainable by the coming winter. Despite there being a decent breeze earlier, the air had gone completely still, adding to the silence of the land. There was even a nagging feeling about  _ something _ tapping on his brain and saying something was up. Tired, he didn’t listen, returning to his small cottage in the depths of the forest and going through his nighttime routine. 

He didn’t know that danger was brewing as he hung up his hat and cape. He didn’t know the world was going to be forever changed as he ate dinner. He didn’t know innocent, ignorant lives were going to be lost in the next few years as he washed up. He didn’t know that humanity’s perception of him would shift radically in the near future as he climbed into bed, closing his eyes and letting himself fall into a deep, dreamless slumber. If only he’d stayed awake for a little bit longer, maybe an hour or so. 

Then he really would’ve felt the tremors. 


	2. The Dragoness Arrives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll be honest: I don’t like this chapter.  
> I’m sure it’s only the first in a long line of ones this story will bring to me, but I know others may have different perspectives and opinions than I do and I can only do so much as a one person planning/writing/editing team. But I’ve done my best, this chapter is needed and trying to rework it again is just going to frustrate me.  
> People introductions this time around. This time it’s the one I can’t decide whether I love or hate (or love to hate). Either way, you make your own opinion.  
>  **Chapter warnings:** verbal attacks, emotional manipulation  
> (Tell me if I missed a warning!)

The next morning, everything seemed completely normal. So did everything the morning after that, and the morning after that. The whole week passed as normal, other than the slightly unnerving silence. 

If he was being honest (ha, being  _ honest _ , what a joke), it was probably the most relaxing week he’d had since he initiated Plan Go-With-The-Flow. He expected the silence to be deafening, providing no relief as his mind spiraled relentlessly and left him in a pit of self-doubt, an empty shell of the great protective deity he once was. Instead it was . . . Strangely calming. For the first time in over 800 years, he moved through the week without once thinking of his mortal-related struggles. His head was completely clear. It was new, a change that made him feel light and free. He felt . . . At peace.

It must’ve been something about the silence. He’d seen the forest fall quiet like this before, usually in the deepest depths of winter and its effect on him was the polar opposite of how he felt now. He knew he was never alone out here, surrounded by the gifts of the goddesses, yet he had never felt more isolated in his millenia-long existence and it was a welcome change. Rested and relaxed, this was probably the best week of his life.

Yet . . . The fact that he felt so at ease made him uneasy. He accepted the mindless daze the first couple days, but as it went on, he started to question why. At first, he thought it was because he finally accepted that this was his life now and stopped fussing over every little thing as if his primary premise was anxiety. But his heart, the darn thing, told him that couldn’t be true. There had to be another, less likely explanation that fit this. Yet no matter how much he racked his brain, he couldn’t find any series of events that logically explained this sense of ease. 

The one that fit the bill the best was that his influence was at use somewhere in the land, one that was about as likely as his reacceptance since the humans had each other and the other creatures were dormant or settled with what they prepared. Self-preservation as a concept hadn’t been used widely in . . . Goddesses, he lost count how many years, likely around 1000. Sure, it was always in use (through things like collecting food, making sure proper shelter was set up, actions that were so common the effect was barely noticeable) being a survival instinct but to actively use it en masse? That was unheard of nowadays. Yet nothing else stood out as an explanation. 

What could’ve caused this sudden resurgence of what he was the personification of? Was something threatening weather-wise? There wasn’t a storm on the wind and the autumn day was average at best . . . Winter preparation failures, maybe? No, the feeling was too broad and it had never happened like this before. Even when sicknesses plagued a species, it had never affected him like this. Whatever it was, it was beyond feasible for him and it affected the majority (possibly all) of life in the area.

Deceit didn’t want to admit it, but he started to fear something was very, very wrong.

As one week stretched on to two, the lack of worry in his head and the surplus of it in his heart started to severely concern him. He had walked each hidden path of the forest, checking on every place he knew creatures made their homes. None came to greet him, all staying far in their dens or hidey-holes and shivering with fear. Worry plaguing him more, he set off towards the human settlement, letting himself get a little closer each day. First he ventured to the edge of the deep woods, then he let himself explore the mid-woods, followed by checking on the lake before looping back and searching the northwestern forest. 

The northwest woods were a beautiful bit of land, presenting a freshwater spring and bushes of sweet berries that attracted small animals and birds. There weren’t many hazards and this was the closest many could get to the plenitude of resources within the depths of the forest without actually venturing into said depths. It was a haven that many visited, including the Kikwi and much of humanity. It’s true that he avoided that section of the land unless he was in an especially sour mood and wanted to cause some inadvertent trouble, but it wasn’t as if he didn’t know how it looked, how it thrived.

What he found was a wasteland. 

The soft grass was flattened, crushed under the weight of something- or multiple somethings. The trees were blackened and dead, their leaves little more than piles of ash. The bushes were uprooted, any life left in it choked out by malevolent force. The waters of the spring were nearly depleted, its source plugged and the remaining puddle left behind murky and polluted. Farore’s life was suffering . . . No wonder he was feeling the uptick in use of his power if something was affecting the forest like this. But why was it only here, and where was the cause now?

He most definitely did  _ not _ let out an undignified shriek upon nearly tumbling headfirst into a massive chasm that wasn’t here the last time he visited. Managing to grab a hanging branch and pull himself back onto solid ground, he gave himself a second to calm down and recompose himself before studying exactly what this was. In all his years of existence, he’d never seen anything like this. Yes, he’d seen nearly all of Din’s landforms. He’d seen the effects earthquakes could have on the land and the cracks they tore into the earth. (Thankfully, these woods were rarely affected by such powerful disasters caused by the old realm of chaos attempting to resurge.) But this . . . This was different. This was jagged and deep, like something clawed its way out from the center of the earth in a rage by force.

He was sure of it now. Something powerful was threatening the inhabitants of the land, causing them to revert to a deep reliance on survival of self and self alone. Revert to a deep reliance on him.

Dusk was settling over the wood. Night was a dangerous time normally, the fact that something was on the loose that he knew nothing about just compelled him to return to his little home in the chunk of woods he was familiar with. Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow, he’d set out nice and early for the human settlement on the lake’s shore and figure out what was happening from people who were in the social circle of life. Once he was more informed, Deceit would decide whether or not to intervene.

After a hurried trek back through the woods, he reached his home just after sunset and shut himself inside. (Was it just paranoia talking, or did it feel like he was being watched?) Nerves were high, so he tried to calm himself by running through his normal nighttime routine. The plan was concrete, something normal would help his anxious thoughts. 

He barely got to walk away from hanging up his hat and cape and light the candle on the table before he was jolted from his thoughts by a knock on the door. 

A knock on the door . . . Of a house in the deepest depths of the woods . . . In the middle of the night. 

He went with his gut instinct on this one: Whoever was on the other side of the door would not be here for some pleasant conversation. There was something more at play, and he had to be keenly aware of it at all times. Carefully retracing his steps and grabbing the hooked staff by the door (the weapon hadn’t been used for things other than a walking stick in years, it felt heavy and foreign in his hand) he cautiously approached the door, just barely opening it and peeking out to see who exactly would waltz up to a stranger’s door after nightfall. 

Outside stood . . . A woman. A woman that could’ve been described as captivating if he dallied in silly things like love and mindless pining. Long copper hair without so much as a tangle, dark eyes that didn’t betray her intent, a tall and lithe form that had a strangely imposing presence . . . And despite being out in the deepest part of nature, she chose to wear a long, flowy black dress- for drama if he had to guess- red embroidery lining the cuffs, hems and neckline. She had a cloak to presumably keep the cold at bay, but it sat uselessly on the back of her shoulders, apparently not useful to her. She appeared to be mortal, so the lack of regard to practicality confused him. Then again, he never could understand them.

Relaxing just a fraction, he opened the door just enough so she could see he was there and tried to respond in a cool and chivalrous manner. “I’m terribly sorry to turn you away madam, but visiting hours ended when the sun set. Of course, that’s implying I have visiting hours, which I don’t. I can provide directions, but I’m afraid I can’t offer much else.”

“Oh Dee, darling, you sell yourself short.” She grinned at seeing him start over the casual nickname drop, using his daze to push open the door and invite herself inside. “One thing you are bad at offering is hospitality. Don’t you know how cold it is outside?”

He sighed. He knew this type, determined to get their way. They were annoying, but he could deal with them, let them plead their case until they exhausted themselves and he could kick them out easier. 

Now that he had a guest, however uninvited, he grabbed the bowler hat he had hung up only hours earlier. Since the only light in the room came from the single flickering candle in the middle of the room he wasn’t too worried about what she could notice, but even still, he wanted to take the extra precaution. Over the years, he’d gotten used to the hat and the half-security it provided, becoming an expert on precisely how to tilt it so it cast the left side of his face into shadow. It wasn’t much, and it never was enough to hide that difference, but he had gotten used to the reactions. He understood that it wasn’t exactly natural to see a person with scales coating half of their face and the experience could be a little jarring, even when someone expected it. But, deception was part of self-preservation and serpents and snakes and the such were associated with lying, so after a while he just accepted that he looked this way and he could take people’s reactions in stride. They usually kept their opinions to themselves and he never asked for them, so it wasn’t like it was a problem. He just liked to keep it at a minimum, hence why he chose to wear it now.

“Of course I know it’s cold outside,” He replied, moving to put his staff back in the corner. “It’s on you for travelling all the way here in this season, not to mention in the dead of night.”

“I couldn’t get away until now. It’s just that I’ve heard so much about you and I had to see you for myself!” She spun to him with a smile that was just a bit too wide to be genuine.

“Mhm, yeah, okay- Who are you?”

She gasped, putting on a dramatic display of betrayal, “You mean, you haven’t heard of me yet?”

He gave her a look, “Honey, I am so far out of life’s social circle, you have no idea. I usually figure out things 50 years after they happen, if I’m lucky.”

“Well then, guess I’m doing the whole introduction thing over again . . .” She motioned out with her left hand and the lantern hanging on the ceiling sprung to life, fire appearing out of nowhere and making the god jump. Smirking in satisfaction, she undid her cloak’s clasp, made sure the room around her was clear, then jumped right into her dramatic introduction. With a snapping sound, she spread massive dragon wings and drew her sword, “I am Pandora, the dragon-winged all-gifted Sorceress of Terror.”

He blinked, not impressed by the display. (The wings did intrigue him a little bit, though.)

“Come on, why are you such a tough crowd? That worked wonders on everyone else.” She let her arms drop, the katana embedding itself in his table in the process.

He gasped, “That is mahogany!”

“Oh please, it’s fine.” With a little struggle, she pulled the weapon out of the wood and sheathed it again, retracting her wings and donning her cloak again. “Now it’s your turn to introduce yourself!”

He couldn’t help the dry tone that slipped into his words, “You already seem to know who I am, why should I bother?”

“I know your moniker and your power. Deceit can’t be your real name.”

“It is.”

She acted intrigued, “Really?”

“I’m nothing more than a deceiver, so I need no other name.”

“Now we both know that’s a lie, you reptilian rapscallion.” The self proclaimed Sorceress of Terror giggled at her own alliterative regard, moving closer to the actual god of self-preservation and studying him in the brighter light. “Speaking of reptilian, wow. Now, I know honesty isn’t your forte, but I have to say, that snake part of you is a lot worse looking in person than it did in my head. You look like nature created everything it wanted, but had some materials left and didn’t want to waste them so it threw you together and decided you were  _ just  _ presentable enough to be allowed to exist. Putting in my two cents, you’re absolutely hideous.” He bristled at the open insult but she continued on, uncaring. “Thankfully, looks don’t put any damper on ability, and that is where you’re incredibly useful, my friend.”

Well then . . . Screw waiting for her to tire herself out. After that statement, he didn’t want to go any further with this conversation. 

“And thankfully, you barged in here without invitation, so there’s nothing against me kicking you out.” He moved past her, opening the door before forcefully guiding her outside. “Goodnight, please let the door hit you on the way out.”

She put a hand to her chest, appalled. “You’re just going to kick a lady out into the cold, dark night all alone?”

“If there’s anything I learned from your little intrusion, it’s that you’re no lady, you just look like one.” Letting go of her, he turned to go back inside. “Some twisted wolf in sheep’s clothing-”

“Wolf in sheep’s clothing? Oh, so it’s like how you pretend to be a good person to hide the monster beneath.”

He froze.

She had him caught and she knew it, her tone syrupy sweet as she continued. “Oh Dee, how did you think I found you? I’ve been mingling among the mortals for a while now. I can sense their fears, and do you want to know one that’s present near constantly? You, Snakey McSnakerson. You, the misshapen figure that lies in wait for innocent little lambs to come along so you can ensnare them in your words and tricks and leave them helpless. You, the snake in the grass that just wants to entertain yourself by watching the scum of the world struggle to climb up the hill of betterment only to trip and tumble down to the fiery pit of failure. To them, you’re all that’s wrong with the world and they’re terrified of you.”

He knew the majority of her statement was lies. He didn’t even need to be able to sense lies to know it. She was trying to pull him into something and this was her way of breaking him down. He was better than that.

So why did her words stick with him so much?

He heard her moving closer as she softened her tone, acting sympathetic. “They’re just scared of you because you’re so much more powerful than them, not knowing you’re barely using the full potential of your abilities. You’re so much more than the menace they see you as, Dee. You’re inimitable and complex, something so much better than them they can’t even comprehend. We’re alike in that regard, made from concepts and shaped by nightmares. That’s why I want you to join me.” She stood beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Stand with me, Deceit. As soon as I assemble my forces, I’m going to show those pitiful creatures what fear really is, and you can join me. You and I both know it’s impossible to change their minds, so why not affirm their fears in the most terrifying way possible? With your strength and my myriad of abilities, we could do anything! We could r-!”

Having had enough of this, he raised his left hand and twisted, sharply clenching his hand into a fist. Pandora‘s speech muffled before going silent, and not because she chose to. Silencing was one of his most powerful natural abilities and he used it sparingly, usually using it in only the most dire of situations between others. This was just a time where he couldn’t stand to hear any more without exploding.

With thinly veiled frustration, he gave the closing statement, “Look, miss Dragon Witch or whatever fancy fake title you have for yourself: I don’t want whatever you’re trying to sell me. All I want is to be left alone.” He forced himself to relax, letting his hand drop and grant Pandora her speech back as he walked back inside.

“Alright, I get it.” She kept that soft tone, pretending to care even though he thought he made it clear he saw through that by now. “I didn’t exactly choose a good time or a soft approach. But you know it’s all true, Dee. I thought you’d appreciate that, a little honesty in your life.”

“Ah, yes, honesty, the thing I  _ love _ being slammed in my face repeatedly. I just can’t get enough of it, thank you so much.” Sarcasm dripped off the words as he reached the door, half turning to her. “Now do something I’ll actually appreciate by leaving and never coming back.”

Then, he slammed the door on her. 

He stood there with a death grip on the handle for a minute, trying to recompose himself. Her words had stabbed him in the ribs and massacred his already broken heart. It stung as much as it did because he knew they were lies (he was one of the deities that had faded from mortal culture and was known only if one dug into books of history, and he certainly didn’t want to leave them helpless and watch them fail. That was the opposite of what he represented. No, he just wanted to trip them up a little, knock them off their high horses and make them rethink their choices) yet the way they were phrased made them so feasible. If he interacted with them more, that probably would become how they perceived him. The story she spun was  _ possible _ , and the fact that it was hurt. 

The fact that she had gotten under his skin so easily pissed him off too! No one, mortal or otherwise, had managed to infuriate him as much as she did in her little ‘recruitment speech’. He prided himself on being able to keep his cool despite the odds, and having that record broken so easily . . . No, he needed to relax, and now.

Incredibly calmly, he let go of the handle. He hung up his hat. He ran his hand over the gash of the table, vowing to fix it later. He blew out the lantern and the candle flame too. The one-room house was drenched in darkness, removing any more distractions that could fuddle his brain.

He let out a heavy breath.

He then faceplanted onto his bed and screamed into his pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My mental title for this chapter was “In Which The Slimy Boi Is A Mood”  
> Fun fact: Pandora went through three name changes and a design change before reaching the combo we’re at today, but I love the current mix and she has such a Mother Gothel-y vibe to her that I can’t help but like her just a little.  
> Comments make my day and constructive criticism makes me a better writer. If you enjoyed or have critiques, consider leaving one or both!

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments and constructive criticism are appreciated!


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